


i think about you every night (i think about you all the time)

by WatanabeMaya



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Boyfriends, Boys In Love, Canon Compliant, Caretaking, College, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fever, Fever Dreams, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, M/M, Mild Angst, Moving In Together, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Canon, Post-Time Skip, Sick Character, Sick Tsukishima Kei, Sickfic, Tsukishima Kei is Loved, Yamaguchi Tadashi is a Good Friend, all i wanted is to make a cute self-indulgent sickfic of two gay boys moving in together, and then fluff at the end of the angst pit, but instead i constructed this behemoth of feelings and insecurities, plus some multiple rounds of emotional gymnastics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28453386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatanabeMaya/pseuds/WatanabeMaya
Summary: "M'sorry," Kei whispers into his hair, so pained and weak it almost makes Kuroo's heart hurt."Don't worry about it, Tsukki," Kuroo replies as he slowly makes his trek up the stairs, forcing a smile even though he knows Kei won't be able to see it. Kuroo hopes the lightness of his tone carries despite the breathiness of his voice. "Let me take care of you for once.""You always do," Kei mumbles quietly, burying his face into the crook of the other's neck. "You take care of me more than you should."
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei, Mentions of Bokuto Koutarou/Akaashi Keiji, Tsukishima Kei & Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 20
Kudos: 172





	i think about you every night (i think about you all the time)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Libertines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Libertines/gifts), [Floracat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floracat/gifts).



> sooo yeah this turned out to be the most self-indulgent thing i've ever written bc i got sick during my last week of finals for the semester and decided to project my neediness once again onto our dear tsukkibabes anyhoo this fic would not even exist rn if it weren't for floracat/libertines so thank u soooo much for this prompt!! i was so excited to do this and i'm so glad i finally got a chance to work on it this christmas. please accept my humble but belated whump gift to you.
> 
> big big big thanks as well and as always to the regular loves of my life: Hal and E for brainstorming with me and hyping with me and all around looking after me. to the new friends i've made this year as well, thank u to the world gc for being my personal life coaches and cheerleaders to get me through the hard times lately (thank u for blessing me this year with our new friendship :) ). my heart sings with joy everytime you guys send me messages of love and care and concern even from how many miles away. i love u guys and i hope u sleep well tonight, and every night, comforted by the fact that i really very much love and appreciate you all
> 
> disclaimer as well bc i want to avoid copyright issues: i don't own hq

Some asshole stole his umbrella.

A typhoon is on its way, the weather report says. The rain hasn't been letting up for a while now. Kei trudges through the library with his hands shoved deeply into his pockets, backpack slung loosely around his shoulder as he makes his way towards Yamaguchi's table. His head pounds with every taken step.

"Hey Tsukki," Yamaguchi greets, voice pleasant and warm despite the gloom of the day's weather.

Kei nods in acknowledgement before shrugging off his backpack. The blond slumps into a nearby seat and slouches over the desk. His body feels like lead and he feels the week's worth of fatigue settle deep into his bones. The thick wool sweater he'd decided to wear early this morning offers him only a meager comfort.

Yamaguchi raises a brow in question. "You feeling okay?"

"Fine," Kei rasps, before clearing his throat. It does nothing to help change how hoarse his voice sounds. His best friend's face winces with pity.

"That doesn't sound very fine to me," Yamaguchi points out, expression pinched with concern. "Also, you look pale. Are you coming down with something? I think you should go home."

"Some asshole stole my umbrella," Kei replies, dodging the question and latching onto the tail-end of Yamaguchi's statement instead. His tone comes off less annoyed than it does tired. "I can't go home like this," he gestures to the heavy downpour outside, "so I'll wait for the rain to die down before I leave."

"I doubt it will," Yamaguchi frowns, almost pensive. "Do you want me to lend you mine?"

"No. You'll need it later," Kei sniffs. "Otherwise, you'll get sick too."

"A-ha!" Yamaguchi announces in an exaggerated show of triumph, as though he had just cracked the code of his best friend's condition with his more-than-amateur levels of deduction, "So you _do_ admit you're sick."

Kei shrugs.

"It's useless to argue with you," he admits, years of childhood and high school memories filling his voice with something close to resignation. "I know you won't believe me anyway."

"That's true," Yamaguchi agrees. A hand snakes up to feel his forehead, and Kei doesn't miss the faint cluck of the other's tongue. "You have a fever, you know."

"Mm," Kei sighs, "I know."

"You sure you don't want my umbrella?" his friend offers. "I can walk back to your apartment with you if you want. I'm not sure I can trust you to walk home alone without collapsing. That way, I can also still hold onto the umbrella for my own use later."

"No, really, it's fine. Plus, you sti—" Kei sneezes and reaches into his pocket for a tissue, "—still have a class, and I don't wanna risk making you late. I'll just wait..."

Then Yamaguchi's face brightens, eyes lighting up with the dawning of a sudden realization. "How about you ask Kuroo-san to drive you back?"

Kei pauses to consider it. Kuroo has an important meeting scheduled this afternoon, something about pitching his idea for the V. League ad campaign for the upcoming season. It was his first project assignment as a team leader and all the raven-haired had been talking about for days. There was no way Kei was going to get in the way of his boyfriend's career plans in the middle of the day just to hitch a quick but inconvenient ride home.

"Maybe later," he decides. The tissue hangs in front of his face and Kei sneezes into it again, this time twice in rapidfire succession. He blows his nose then looks at the used tissue with great disdain, almost as if it had offended him, before he folds it up and stands to toss the offensive object into the nearby waste bin. _Christ_ , he feels horrible — but he'll wait for Kuroo to finish up with his work first. "I don't want to bother him more than I have to."

"You should probably text him now, though," Yamaguchi insists when he returns to his seat. Kei fixes him with a flat stare. "I mean, uh, to give Kuroo-san a heads-up at least? Before he makes any other plans for after work."

Kei acquiesces, pulling out his phone and swiping through his contacts.

« _kuroo-san_

» _Hey moonshine, what's up?_

« _i'm sorry to disturb you, but could you pick me up from my university later?_

« _after you get off work, i mean_

« _i badly need a ride back to my apartment_

» _No problem! I'll drive u ;)_

» _But I gotta let u know I've got 3 meetings today_

» _So I'll finish up at around 5_

» _Think u can handle waiting for me til then?_

« _yeah that's fine_

« _thanks_

» _Anything for u babe <3_

» _Could I ask y tho?_

« _some asshole stole my umbrella_

» _Oh lol rip_

_» But damn him >:(_

Kei shuts his phone off with a huff and drops it unceremoniously onto the table. Yamaguchi turns his attention back onto his notebook and resumes revising his notes. Kei rests his head on his arms and slumps down quietly, watching his friend continue with his studies until he quickly falls asleep.

*

He wakes up later to the sound of a pair of hushed voices.

His face is still tucked into his forearms, the uncomfortable press of glasses against his skin telling enough that it's sure to leave behind a nasty red mark. There's a jacket draped over his shoulders, warm and familiar, and Kei picks up the faint traces of tobacco and the even fainter scent of cologne the very moment he breathes in.

"Tsukki?" a voice calls out to him, pitch much deeper than he recalls Yamaguchi's having ever been. Gentle fingers are carding through his hair, patient yet almost hesitant in their touch. "You with me yet, moonshine?"

Kei shifts his head only slightly to face the direction of the voice. He's disoriented. His glasses are askew. The figure in front of him is only a blurry haze of colors and unfocused shapes at best.

"Hey," the figure says with a small and chiming laugh, and Kei forces his mind to make its way through his muddled thoughts, as the voice begins to more clearly take shape. Warm hands move closer to adjust his glasses at the temples. "Is that better?" the man asks.

"K'roo...san?" Kei croaks.

"Yup, 'K'roo' Tetsurou at your service," Kuroo chuckles and plays along. His smile is crooked, a little uneven at the edges, but hardly noticeable to the untrained eye. Still, even through the haze of his fever, Kei sees it well. When it comes to Kuroo, Kei knows everything best. It is in the littlest of things, the tiniest of details – the lopsided grin Kuroo always shows to him whenever his expressions are genuine, how his left eye crinkles just a little bit smaller compared to his right.

"What are you doing here?"

"You texted me, remember?" Kuroo reminds him softly, the kind of soft that one often uses when talking to a child. "You must really be out of it, huh?"

"Oh." Kei blinks slowly, pushing himself to sit up straighter. "Is it five already?"

Kuroo doesn't answer him; just brings his hand to Kei's cheek, fingers brushing gently against the flush of too-warm skin. "Yamaguchi said you weren't feeling so hot."

"That's not true," he denies, albeit leaning in.

"Yeah, I agree," Kuroo replies, grimacing as he cups the younger's face and cradles it gently in his palms. Kei closes his eyes in relief at the other's touch – the older boy's skin blissfully cool against his own rising temperature. "You actually feel like you're burning."

"You're exaggerating."

"No," Kuroo tells him a-matter-of-factly. "You're really sick, Tsukki. I need to take you home."

Kuroo wraps an arm around him wordlessly – for protection or support, Kei doesn't really know – and the younger boy lets him. It's almost nice, Kei thinks. He feels safe this way.

"Okay," he answers softly, and lets Kuroo lead the way.

*

In the car, Kei buckles his seatbelt quietly beside him and pointedly ignores the other's worried stares. Kuroo pulls the car up in reverse and maneuvers them out of the parking lot. The rain pelts down hard against the glass of the windshield. The suit jacket lies bundled up, forgotten, on his lap.

Kuroo yanks up the thermostat on high heat.

"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" Kuroo asks once they make it to the highway, voice low with the weight of his concern.

"I didn't want to make you miss work," he replies. Then, "Are you mad at me?"

"No," Kuroo shakes his head only slightly, eyes still focused on watching the road. He keeps one hand on the wheel and uses the other to reach for Kei's. "I'm not mad," he says. "Just worried."

"You worry too much," Kei argues weakly, the tone of his voice lacking less bite than usual.

"I only worry because I care," Kuroo retorts, unabashed in his affections. Kei feels his cheeks heat up further at the other's choice of words. The blond ducks his head and turns his gaze away.

"I know," Kei tells him softly, voice just shy of a confession. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

The rest of the drive goes on in silence. Kuroo reaches for him again when they make it to a stoplight and squeezes his hand gently in reassurance.

"It's okay," Kuroo says, thumb running smoothly over the grooves of his knuckles. "I love you, you know?"

"Yeah," Kei nods and takes in a shuddering breath. He stifles a cough behind his fist. The blond leans his head against the windowpane, the chill of the surface a welcome contrast to his fever. Kei watches the streak of the rubber blades as they clear up the splatter of the droplets, the ceaseless motion of the wipers almost dizzying him into a trance.

Kei shuts his eyes to hold back the nausea. Heat flickers behind his closed eyelids. The seconds trickle slowly as they make their way through the road.

"Yeah," he whispers at last, his hand trembling in Kuroo's hold. "I know."

*

"Moonshine, we're home," Kuroo tells him once the boy comes to – or almost. Kei looks up at him blearily through drooping, glazed eyes – half-lidded and on the verge of once again falling asleep. The rain outside has now mellowed into a slow drizzle, the glow of the streetlights highlighting the features on Kei's pale face – from the deep flush of his fever to the gaunt hollow of his cheekbones.

"Mm?"

"Think you can stand?" Kuroo prompts warily and with caution. "Or do you need me to carry you back?"

Kei stares back at him with glassy eyes, expression dull as he attempts to make sense of his surroundings. The persistent throb behind his eyelids has increased tenfold to an altogether ache, his head swimming as colors swirl around like paint clouding his vision.

Kei shakes his head – a clear testament to how bad he feels. He does not trust his own legs to carry him.

Kuroo steps outside and scoops the sick boy up in his arms in an attempt to do a bridal carry. Kei is lighter than most athletes, Kuroo knows, but it doesn't change the fact that his boyfriend is still an athlete to begin with, and it doesn't help that Kuroo has not exercised properly since his retirement from volleyball all the way back in high school. Not one to sacrifice efficiency for his romantic ideals, he opts instead for the next best thing and half-carries, half-heaves Kei onto his back.

"M'sorry," Kei whispers into his hair, so pained and weak it almost makes Kuroo's heart hurt.

"Don't worry about it, Tsukki," Kuroo replies as he slowly makes his trek up the stairs, forcing a smile even though he knows Kei won't be able to see it. Kuroo hopes the lightness of his tone carries despite the breathiness of his voice. "Let me take care of you for once."

"You always do," Kei mumbles quietly, burying his face into the crook of the other's neck. "You take care of me more than you should."

Kuroo hums, not quite in agreement but if only to spare the sick boy from being spurred on further into a debate. Kei holds on tighter. Neither of them say anything else.

Kuroo trods on and mouths a silent prayer to the gods, cursing the heavens why his boyfriend didn't live on the second floor instead of the third. Eventually, by sheer effort alone, they manage to make it to Kei's unit. Kuroo fumbles with the key and pushes his way through the front door, familiar enough with the territory that he easily makes his way to the bedroom without needing to turn on the lights.

He lays Kei down and tucks him in bed. Kuroo plucks off his glasses to rest it on the night table before he heads over to the bathroom, rummaging through the medicine cabinet in search of a cooling pad. When he finds none, he grabs the face towel and fills a spare basin with cold water.

Kei is passed out by the time he returns. Kuroo inches closer and seats himself on the edge of the bed, wringing the towel out to dry. Kei lets out a choked sound once the older man places the damp cloth on his forehead, voice caught somewhere in between a whine and a whimper.

"Sorry, sorry," Kuroo coos sympathetically.

He brushes Kei's bangs away, tucks the hair out of his face. The younger boy leans in to his touch, seeking out the warmth of the other's presence even deep into sleep.

"Tsukki?" Kuroo calls out, tapping the younger boy's cheek gently to wake him up. Kei stirs in his sleep, brow furrowing with discomfort. "Kei?"

Blond lashes tremble as Kei slowly blinks himself awake. Kuroo doesn't miss the way his eyes burn fever bright, skin scalding beneath his own fingertips.

"Kuroo-san, I–"

Then Kei lets out a gasp, the itch at the back of his throat blooming into something more brutal and vicious. The washcloth falls onto the sheets. He's coughing now, harsh and raw and wheezing, back bent as he hunches in on himself. Kuroo rushes closer to meet him, one hand on his shoulder to keep him from falling and another hand on his back running up and down the small space between his shoulder blades.

He hates having to see him like this.

"You're burning up," Kuroo tells him. "Do you want me to spend the night?" he offers, "I can stay if you need me."

It's not too tall an order. Kuroo has a spare toothbrush in his bathroom and a drawer with his own clothes filled up from five too many times of Kuroo sleeping over and rushing to the office the morning after a particularly eventful date night. He already knows Kei's favorite cereal brand. He restocks the groceries every Sunday.

"Stay," Kei mutters feebly with a nod, reaching for Kuroo's hand in a moment of lucid clarity. His voice is so small Kuroo has to strain his ears to hear it. "Please stay."

 _Stay with me,_ Kei thinks in between golden threads woven by calloused hands and fever dreams, as Kuroo tucks him back in under the blankets and replaces the towel over his burning forehead. _Stay with me, always._

*

Kuroo makes him soup.

Kei knows this from the sounds of the pots and pans banging in the kitchen – the clatter of the silverware and the near-soprano whistle of the kettle. Kuroo is always noisy even when he never means to be.

There is humming too, the volume of it is much softer than usual but nevertheless there – some nameless tune Kei recognizes from Kuroo every time he'd be caught up in doing some mundane chore. He'd told him once before it was a melody his mother composed for him as a child, a lullaby his father had later on sang to him every night in his sleep, and he'd committed it to his memory ever since she had passed on. Kuroo sings off key and almost always out of tune, but Kei finds that he doesn't quite mind, more comforted than anything else at the familiarity of the whole scene as the sound of his voice carries through the hall.

"'Morning, moonshine," Kuroo greets as Kei steps into the kitchen, not bothering to turn his gaze away from the stove.

"Is it morning already?" Kei wonders, squinting, the dreariness of the weather making it unclear whether the time on the clock was meant to be read as morning or night. He takes his seat on the dining table, movements all sluggish and lethargic. There's a plastic bag open right next to him, holding a blister pack of painkillers, cold medicine, and cooling patches all newly purchased from the nearby pharmacy.

"No," Kuroo answers back, "but you just woke up and I didn't know how else to greet you. This is actually dinner." The older man moves away from the counter and gestures to the small bowl he'd just placed in front of Kei. "Chicken soup."

"Oh."

Kei looks down at his food and tries not to be offended by the smell. He doesn't quite have an appetite yet, and the aroma of chicken broth, carrots, mushrooms, and cream – while all quite pleasant in theory – are not doing him any favors at this very moment.

"I don't think–"

"I got you some medicine, but I don't want you to take those pills on an empty stomach," Kuroo explains, pouring another serving of soup for himself this time. "Think you can try eating even a little bit of that for me? Please? I worked hard on that, you know."

And Kei does know. Kuroo works hard on every little thing when it comes to Kei. He looks after him when he's needy, buys him medicine and cooling patches when he's sick, drives him home after work on a rainy day, and cooks him dinner with ingredients he'd purchased out of his own salary. Kuroo gives and gives and _gives_ and Kei has nothing much left to offer him in return.

So if eating his cooking will make him happy, Kei will definitely do it.

He takes a spoonful of the broth and some chunks of shredded chicken and swallows it slowly after chewing. Then he tries again with the carrots, slurps down a bit more of the broth, and then another time once over with a spoonful of the mushrooms. The contents of it slosh around at the pit of his stomach, an unsettled weight that has yet to be digested. He makes it through half the bowl before his body promptly decides to simply give up.

"Bathroom," Kei announces with great urgency, palms slamming hard on the wooden surface of the table before stumbling over in haste to reach his destination. Kuroo's eyes go wide with alarm and he rushes over quickly to follow suit.

Kei retches into the toilet bowl, all carrots and chicken and mushrooms and cream making their way back up his esophagus and into the open pit of the porcelain throne. Kuroo leans over him all throughout, a hand once again running soothing circles over his back as he gags and dry-heaves, the gentle ministrations a pleasant distraction from the burning acid that only serves to torture his already sore throat.

"Gee, is my cooking that bad?" Kuroo jokes as he holds Kei up at the sink for a rinse, ridding himself of the taste of bile that had earlier filled his mouth. He flushes the toilet without a second glance.

"Sorry," Kei mutters as Kuroo guides him back to his bed, legs as strong as a newborn fawn's.

"It's fine," Kuroo waves a hand around to metaphorically shoo Kei's worries away. "I'll put the leftovers in the fridge, you can try again later when you're feeling up to it. No big deal," he says, patting his back. Kei is reminded of how disgusting he feels when he realizes it's drenched in his cold sweat. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Kuroo throws him a new set of pajamas and changes into his own fresh pair of clothes. He puts a finger up in the air before he leaves the room, and Kei waits for his boyfriend's return, knowing that the gesture meant he'd only promised to be gone for a second.

"Drink this," Kuroo orders, handing the blond a stout plastic bottle and two tablets of what he assumes is cold medicine. Kei picks up his glasses off the night table and makes a face, nose wrinkling in mild disgust as he reads what's on the label.

"This is Pocari," Kei speaks slowly, voice low and with warning.

Kuroo nods with great understanding. "Yes."

"Kuroo-san."

"Yes?"

"I hate Pocari."

Another nod. "Yes."

"Why would you torture a sick person like this?" Kei groans. "Normally people give us tea."

"Tea dehydrates you, Tsukki," Kuroo reasons with his signature grin, the one he always shows when they engage in their usual banter. "Pocari Sweat does not."

"I want tea," Kei grumbles, too caught up with his discomfort to care about coming off as childish. He watches Kuroo pluck out a cooling pad from the box and peel off the adhesive. The older boy gestures for Kei to hold still as he puts it on. Kei does exactly as he's told. "Make me some."

"Later then," Kuroo says, always so quick to give in. "But drink that first to replenish you. I'll brew you some tea later," he promises.

*

True to his word, there is tea on the nightstand when Kei wakes up again later.

Kei takes the cup and downs it gratefully, relief flooding him as the warm liquid soothes his sore throat. Kuroo is in the living room watching some soap opera on the television when Kei heads out in search of his company. Kei can tell by the dramatic swell of the violins and the even more dramatic declarations of the protagonist that Amane Sara has just realized her feelings for love interest Hosaka Yuma and the two are now well on their way to furthering their relationship as a couple.

Kei makes his way to Kuroo's side. The older boy scoots over on the couch to give him room, too engrossed with the plot to lift his gaze from the screen. Kei wonders if this was the sort of modern period drama set in high school or if it was some early '90s office romance, and wonders again how on earth Kuroo managed to get himself roped into ever being interested in commercialized depictions of love like this.

"What's going on?" Kei speaks up hoarsely, feigning interest.

"Well," Kuroo explains, sparing a glance to look at Kei from his periphery, "Akaashi's really into this and he somehow managed to get Bo really into it, and then Bo had me watch it _for_ him so he could be up to date with the episode for Akaashi's sake because it was broadcasting while he was currently at an away game that one time," he goes on, "and now we're all just waiting for Hosaka-kun to man up for Amane-chan so they can seal the fucking deal."

"And now you're really into it," Kei concludes.

"Yes," Kuroo admits grimly, reluctantly. "Yes, I am."

"Hm," Kei hums.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better, I think," Kei tells him. The fog in his head has cleared up by a lot, and his lungs are no longer threatening to hack themselves out. He breathes a little easier now, he realizes. "Thanks for looking after me."

Kuroo grins. "That's good," he says and inches closer. "Can I kiss you?"

"I don't think colds are cured that easily, Kuroo-san."

"Pity," Kuroo makes a show of exaggerated disappointment. He wraps the blanket around Kei like a shawl. "You should stay warm then," he says, and bumps their foreheads together. He cups Kei's face in his hands. "Is your fever gone at least?"

"I don't know," Kei replies, swallowing hard.

"Well, your temperature's down by a bit," the older boy assesses as he looks deep into his eyes. "But you're still much hotter than I'd like you to be." Kuroo cracks a small smile.

"Please don't kiss me, Kuroo-san," Kei pouts. "I don't want you to catch this."

Kuroo breaks away with a laugh.

"I won't, I won't," he promises, rising from the couch to grab the thermometer and offer it to the younger boy. Kei holds the device to his ear and waits for the beep before he pulls out. He hands it back to Kuroo.

"Thirty-eight point one," Kuroo reads aloud. "See, Tsukki? I wasn't kidding. You're still too hot to be healthy."

Kei hums absently in assent, then muffles a cough behind his hands. "I really do feel better now compared to before though," he insists.

"That's great to hear and all, moonshine, but I'm still worried about you," the older boy tells him, the sincerity of his tone as clear as the day.

Kuroo says this because he cares, Kei knows. He has always known this to be a fact. Not once has he ever doubted his feelings for Kuroo, nor the other's feelings for him. But tonight Kei comes to realize that Kuroo really does _love_ him. He knows and he realizes and at last, he _understands._

(It almost breaks his heart.)

"Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?"

 _You being here is enough,_ Kei thinks but doesn't let himself say.

"Tell me about your day," he settles for instead, gesturing for the older boy to sit back down as he pats on the empty space beside him. "How was work?"

*

He dozes off somewhere in between Kuroo's recollection of his business proposal – _a total success, by the way_ – and the foiled attempts of an office romance between their two newest interns – _Can you believe Yamazaki tried to ask Imai-san out for lunch in the middle of printing out the tournament flyers of all things?_

Kei sleeps fitfully. Cool palms press briefly against his skin, knuckles gentle in their touch. An endless patience. There are hands that hold him in midst of his dreams – warm hands, large hands, hands that speak of nothing other than selflessness. Hands that hold him with the grace of a man who has never known anything else but to be kind.

They touch his face, cradle his jaw, trace his neck. His head hurts. His heart aches. Kei's skin feels like it's on fire. Fingers comb through his hair, running through the tresses. A voice calls out to him, low and rumbling. It murmurs to him words and sweet nothings that Kei can no longer understand.

Distantly, he picks up the sound of someone humming; hears the music of a nameless lullaby. Kei lets the pull of slumber draw him in, listens to the sweet song of sleep, bright and honey-like – its familiarity a comfort despite the blistering heat that scorches through his veins.

(Later into the night, when Kei wakes up to the angry blaring of a race car ad playing on the TV, he will find Kuroo conked out on the floor beside him, head cradled in folded up arms. There's a basin filled with ice water resting on the carpet, a discarded cooling patch forgotten next to the remote control. Kei will hoist Kuroo up onto the couch and whisper to him good night, before heading back into the coldness of the bedroom and the solace of his own bed.

He will leave the blanket behind.)

*

Kei doesn't wake up again until the following morning.

Kuroo's already gone by the time that he does. The apartment is empty, with no trace of him in sight. The blanket on the couch is folded neatly underneath the throw pillows. The dinner plates and cutlery have been washed up and left to dry. The only remnants of his presence are a memo note scribbled down and taped neatly onto the refrigerator and an unclicked ballpoint pen abandoned on the coffee table nearby.

_I made you some okayu and left the pot on the stove. Just heat it up. It'll be lighter on your stomach, don't worry! Get well soon. - Tetsurou_

The blond reaches for his phone. It rings thrice in succession, and Kei holds in a breath, waits for the dial tone and the soft _click_ as the older man picks up.

" _Yo, Tsukki!"_

"Kuroo-san," he speaks into the receiver. "Where are you?"

" _I'm...in the laundry room?"_ Kuroo answers, the tenor of his voice lilting higher with bewilderment. Kei's ears perk at the low groan of the washing machine, the whirring noise of appliances in the background. " _Are you calling me for phone sex right now?"_ he teases, and then there is the rustling of static. Kei imagines Kuroo unloading his laundered clothes into the dryer. " _Tell me, moonshine, what are you wearing?"_

"No, you pervert!" Kei hisses, scowling into his phone. "I mean, _where_ are you?"

" _Home,"_ Kuroo answers without missing a beat. " _Why?"_

Of course.

Of course, Kuroo would be home. At home, where he belongs, somewhere else – away from Kei. Kuroo didn't belong to Kei any more or any less than Kei belonged to him. He belonged to other people as well. He belonged to the world, to the universe. To himself.

It's a Saturday and it's still cold out, the rain relentless as it washes over the city. The forecast speaks of a storm surge off the coast of Tokyo Bay; the air of the typhoon lingering around the district like a warning. Downstairs and across the street, Kei watches his neighbors tie tarpaulin like a canopy over their balcony-turned-patio.

He leans closer over the railing.

From his view, Kei sees a small pool of the rainwater forming on its corners, sinking down just a little bit but not so much for it to be threatening. The winds skim over it like they do a ripple on the seashores. Water dances as the gale brushes past and sends a nearby houseplant toppling over with the breeze.

There, Kei thinks, is a mirror of his emotions – dangling over their heads, hovering about on the edges, skirting past each other just enough to frighten him. But not enough for Kuroo, he fears, to let them make themselves known.

"Why?" Kei whispers, and he curses the way that his voice trembles when he speaks.

"' _Why?'"_ Kuroo wonders, echoing back his words. " _Your fever broke last night so I figured it was time for me to go. I knew you wouldn't want me to get into your space too much. I cooked lunch for you before I left though. Did you see my note?"_

"Yeah, I saw it," Kei nods, almost as if he wishes the other could see it. "Thanks for the food. I just...uhm…"

" _Oh! Oh no,"_ Kuroo begins to fret, " _did you puke again?_ _There's Pocari in the fridge too, just in case, you know what to do, so please–"_

"Ah, no, no–"

" _Look, babe, I know you hate the taste of it, but it's good for you so–"_

"Kuroo-san," Kei presses on. "I'm fine now. Sorry to worry you. I didn't mean to make you panic when I called. I was just wondering…"

" _Wondering about what?"_

"I wanted to know when... _er–_ " Kei amends, "if you'll be back?"

" _Why?"_ comes Kuroo's answer, voice softening with concern. " _Are you still feeling bad?"_

"Well, not really, but–"

" _Ah, right!"_ Kuroo chimes, " _Your key! Hold on! I'll be over in ten!"_

"Ku–"

Then he hangs up and Kei hears nothing else but the droning buzz of the dial tone. Kei watches the rain as he waits for Kuroo to arrive, feels the heavy weight of his phone pressed hard against his ear.

And in the hollow silence of his spacious one-bedroom apartment, he thinks.

*

Kuroo comes over to his apartment in fifteen minutes instead of ten, clad in Kenma's signature _Bouncing Ball Corp._ jacket and his own pair of faded Nekoma jogging pants. His hair is unkempt from walking out even with an umbrella under the rain. He is wearing knit socks together with his house sandals.

"The wind out there was intense," Kuroo explains, as though trying to defend his haggard appearance while he deposits the used umbrella at the _genkan_. "They weren't kidding about the storm."

It's dark outside, the skies tinged grey from the weather, and the fluorescent bulbs can only do so much to help them, but in Kei's eyes right now, the world can't seem to get any brighter. Kei moves closer to Kuroo and brings a hand up to reach him, a desperate attempt to smoothen out the bird's nest of the other's hair.

"Aww, Tsukki, did you miss me that much?" Kuroo chuckles, content to let himself be pampered if only for a little while.

"Yes," Kei allows himself to say. "I missed you."

Kuroo smiles warmly at that, expression softening as he takes Kei's words in stride. He steps closer to place a hand on Kei's forehead. "Yup, your fever's finally gone," he remarks proudly, "and your complexion's looking a lot better now."

The older boy rests his head on the blond's shoulder and sighs.

"Kuroo-san, I'm disgusting," Kei chides lightly, hands making their way to pat the other awkwardly on his back. "I haven't showered yet," he warns.

"I'm glad," Kuroo tells him as he lets out a shuddering breath, voice muffled against the fabric of the other's cardigan. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Kei asks, bemused.

"Because you never tell me what's wrong," Kuroo admits, words tumbling out of him in a rush. "You never tell me until it's all too much for you that everything else begins to hurt you. You told me you were fine the other night, Kei, and then your temperature spiked, and I felt so helpless. You were so sick, and I didn't know what else I could do. I was so worried, you know. But then I thought you didn't want me around anymore, so I left in the morning as soon as it went down."

"I didn't mean to drive you away," Kei whispers quietly, almost sadly. "I'm sorry."

"When you called, I was worried your fever relapsed," Kuroo continues, not letting his speech go on unfinished, "or that you threw up again, or that you collapsed while heating up the congee. So I did the laundry. I took over Kenma's share of the chores. It was eating me up inside and I just needed a distraction."

"Oh."

"It's irrational of me, I know," Kuroo confesses, lifting his head up to face him. He brushes the hair out of the younger's face and bumps their foreheads together as an excuse to look Kei straight in the eye, "but I just hate thinking about how maybe you were feeling bad sometime today and there was nobody around to help you."

Kei returns Kuroo's gaze and wills himself to speak, to find the words, and without missing a beat, he says, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Thank you for worrying about me," Kei answers shyly, a pleasant heat now darkening his cheeks. "For caring."

 _Thank you,_ he thinks, _for loving me._

"Thank you too, then," Kuroo plays along, "for calling."

"And thank you, too, for picking up."

"I'm going to kiss you now," Kuroo tells him all of a sudden, lips curling upward as he grins, like a threat.

"I told you you can't, Kuroo-san," Kei insists, "not while I'm still sick."

"Too late!"

Kuroo moves up to peck a chaste kiss on the other's forehead. Kei blinks back in surprise as Kuroo pulls his face away, a cloudburst of pride reflected in amber eyes as he beams at him in the brief moment of decisive victory.

"Oh, right, right, right, I almost forgot," Kuroo smoothly cuts in, changing the subject as his left hand reaches for his side pocket, "your key–"

"No," Kei tells him at last, voice hoarse and a small smile on his face, barely there and just rough around the edges. "Stay."

 _Stay with me,_ Kei thinks to himself in between dreams spun like gold from bony knuckles and calloused fingertips, in the alcove between memories and a fantasy. His fingers wrap around the other's hand and pushes back the silver metal that Kuroo holds out like an offer, a promise tucked between the crevices of the fine lines of his open palm.

"Please stay."

( _Stay with me, always._ )

**Author's Note:**

> since the decade is ending i just wanna wish everyone a great 2021 ahead! if there's anything i've learned over these past ten years, especially thanks to haikyuu, it is that nobody else but you can decide on your story. so go out there and write your own future folks c’est la vie seize the day you do you the world is your clamshell!!! nothing else matters ok so put yourself first anw that's all happy new year everyone thank you for reading reviews would be lovely stay well always peace out ✌🏻
> 
> hype with me about hq on [twitter](https://twitter.com/onigiri_maya)


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